


Delectations

by orphan_account



Category: Angel Sanctuary
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-07
Updated: 2009-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Food is the best seduction of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Edo no Hana (Edonohana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/gifts).



> For Edo no Hana for her birthday.

It's different in Heaven, where even fruit is forbidden. The finest fruit is poison, delirium, sin incarnate. Never mind that it is fragrant like plum blossoms and has skin like rich velvet, inviting caresses. Never mind that it melts on the tongue like fresh cream, and tastes as sweet as your true love's mouth, in a kiss given beneath falling cherry blossoms, or rain, or snow. Something inevitably falls. Remember that to taste this fruit is death.

In Hell we are free to speak of delectations Heaven would forbid. Although we do not speak of them often, we have our treasures. Most especially we have our cookbooks. Every ravishment of the senses you can imagine: tea of roses and radiant starlight; roast quail wrapped in strips of dragonflesh and served over pears carved to resemble the faces of succubi; cakes glazed in white and dark chocolate and decorated with jewels of sugar spelling out dark phrases, profane praises.

But you are a soldier in your heart, Alexiel. It's not the delicacies that you fancy. Rather, it's the companionship at the fire, the familiar face at the end of the day. I don't come bearing a feast for your delectation, but the other thing--that I can provide.

We will write our own cookbook, you and I, one where the sharing of a meal is its own high art.


End file.
